Chapter 57

Chapter 57: A Slap

Wang Jie raised his left arm.

The blade-light fell.

Clang.

His arm shuddered. Pain shot up from his wrist. He gritted his teeth, then stabbed out with his right hand.

The finger-force struck Shu Mu Ye’s shoulder and punched through.

Blood sprayed into the air.

Shu Mu Ye’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected Wang Jie to take Pale Moon Streaming Across Heaven head-on.

How?

His gaze snapped to Wang Jie’s left wrist.

What was that?

Wang Jie didn’t give him time to study. He pointed again.

Without the wrist guard, he would have died last time.

But it was because of that wrist guard that Wang Jie had found the answer.

If he could block the blade’s path—

He could live.

The wrist guard was absurd. Miraculous. Shu Mu Ye was still only at the Eighth Seal; the guard could take it.

And it did.

As long as Wang Jie could catch the blade’s trajectory, he could block it.

The trialists had entered Blue Star without bringing anything from outside.

That was their weakness.

Shu Mu Ye refused to believe it. Blue Star shouldn’t have equipment that could withstand his blade technique.

He slashed again.

One Blade.

And again.

One Blade after One Blade met the wrist guard and bounced.

Wang Jie used every opening to counterattack. This time Shu Mu Ye was more cautious, never letting Wang Jie punch through him—but the cuts still came, small but frequent.

From a distance, it looked like Shu Mu Ye attacked and Wang Jie defended.

Yet Shu Mu Ye was the one bleeding more.

It was the reverse of their first and second duels.

Across the three bases, millions watched and trembled with fragile hope.

Pinned under corpses on the altar, Bai Yuan stared up through blood-water and forced the thought into existence.

Win.

So many had died. Blue Star had dragged out time with everything it had.

Win.

Out on the sea, Qi Wu stared, tongue caught behind his teeth. “Young Miss… if this fight is ever broadcast outside, it’ll blow the universe apart.

“Who could imagine Shu Mu Ye getting pushed this far? Three rebuilds, and he still can’t crush a native.

“This native is… terrifying.”

Qi Xue Yin couldn’t answer. Anyone watching this would fall silent.

When had a Guarding Star Realm cultivator ever been forced into a corner like this at the same realm?

It made no sense.

Shu Mu Ye slashed 89 times.

Eighty-nine.

Which meant Wang Jie had eighty-nine chances to strike back.

By the end, Wang Jie’s left arm was numb to the shoulder. The wrist guard could block the blade—but it couldn’t block the vibration. His arm barely obeyed him.

Shu Mu Ye looked worse. His body was covered in wounds. None were deep, but blood stained his robes in a way that would have been unthinkable to those who’d only heard his name.

When Wang Jie lifted his arm to block another One Blade, Shu Mu Ye stopped.

He stared at the golden wrist guard exposed beneath Wang Jie’s shredded sleeve.

“That’s a Chen Artifact,” Shu Mu Ye said, voice sharp with disbelief. “Why do you have a Chen Artifact?”

Wang Jie glanced at it. Smooth. Unmarked, despite being struck so many times. “A white-bearded old grandfather came down from the starry sky,” he said casually. “Gave it to me. Took me as his disciple. Told me when I reach the stars, I should go find him.”

For a moment, Shu Mu Ye couldn’t tell if it was true.

Blue Star shouldn’t have Chen Artifacts.

A Chen Artifact was equipment infused with Starforce.

And Chen Artifacts came in grades. A weak one would never withstand this many slashes. Wang Jie’s wrist guard didn’t even have a scratch.

Jia Yi Sect stared from their viewing point, expressions tightening. A remote, ordinary planet—how could outsiders have come and gone without them knowing?

And yet the wrist guard was real.

Wang Jie’s words might not be entirely false.

Even worse—

This native had also trained Lockforce, damning his own future.

No one knew if Wang Jie was lying or telling the truth.

Wang Jie didn’t care.

He lunged again.

He struck with his palm this time, the edge of it cutting like a blade.

Somewhere in the exchange, watching Shu Mu Ye’s technique again and again, something had clicked. He used palm as sword—

Rainbow-Drinking Sword Form.

But Shu Mu Ye didn’t engage. He let Wang Jie’s palm-force pass, and the slash-like pressure carved into the sea, splitting water and seafloor in a clean line—so close it nearly reached Chu Yao.

Then the sky changed.

The heavy crimson clouds pressed lower.

A sound drifted out, faint at first—

Flute music.

The moment it appeared, Wang Jie’s body locked.

His mind boomed. The world blurred as if something had struck him from within.

Not just him.

Every living thing on Blue Star that heard the music—human, beast, plant—staggered into a daze.

At Jia Yi Sect’s lakeside, Gu Yue’s expression shattered. “A flute technique?”

Wen Si Yuan stared as if he’d seen a ghost.

Cheng Yi Dao had flute techniques. One was called Night and Day.

At peak, Shu Mu Ye had played it like a dream. But even so—

Night and Day was not something an Eighth Seal could use. Not even close.

The technique demanded Chen Art as foundation. The requirements were obscene.

How could Shu Mu Ye, rebuilt down to the Eighth Seal, perform it?

Wen Si Yuan’s voice turned low and heavy. “When he lifted Tian Fu Base last time, he probably still couldn’t use the flute technique.”

Gu Yue’s eyes were hollow with awe. “We watched that native improve—and forgot to watch Shu Mu Ye. He was rebuilding too. He didn’t break into the Ninth Seal because he was chasing the absolute limit at his current realm.”

Wen Si Yuan exhaled once. “Rare in all ages. The outcome is decided.”

Out on the sea, Chu Yao floated on crimson water and stared into the sky. The flute music burrowed into the skull, twisting pain into something endless.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered. “Chen Art was already enough, and now he brings out a flute technique too. That’s cheating.”

Mo, Wen Xing Ru, Chong Xuan—every trialist dropped to the ground, unable to stand.

Lian Qin and Hong Jian couldn’t even crouch. They lay there, helpless.

Across the three bases, millions collapsed as well. Countless creatures floated on the red sea like debris.

No one could resist Night and Day.

All of Blue Star was drowned in the sound.

Only Wang Jie stayed on his feet.

Barely.

He bit down hard enough to taste blood, braced both hands on his knees, and forced his head up.

Shu Mu Ye rose and landed atop the altar, looking down from above, blood-stained robes snapping in the wind. His voice was calm again—cold and deep.

“I never give people a second chance. You’re the first.”

He looked at Wang Jie as if offering a gift. “Wang Jie. Today, I’ll give you a second chance.

“Follow me into the universe.

“You’ll become the universe’s second person.”

His gaze sharpened. “Agree—and kneel.”

Wang Jie lifted his head. Blood leaked from the corners of his eyes. Veins stood out across his temples. The flute music smashed into his mind like a hammer, heavier than blades, heavier than fists, pressing him toward collapse.

The altar was above.

The clouds were below.

Countless deaths dyed the sky.

And only one ray of sunlight still touched Shu Mu Ye, making him look impossibly sacred in the blood-dark world.

Wang Jie clenched his fist.

He stepped forward.

He walked through blood-water toward the altar.

Shu Mu Ye watched him. “Kneel.”

The world tore and blurred in Wang Jie’s vision. Only the altar stayed clear. Only that golden figure, bathed in sunlight, stayed clear.

He stepped forward again.

No matter how hard it was, he would cross the distance one step at a time.

Far away, Wen Zhao coughed blood and clutched a tree trunk, staring at Wang Jie. Her veil had slipped loose, exposing her face.

Wang Jie’s back looked lonely—so lonely it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to a single figure walking forward.

Surrender.

The thought flashed through Wen Zhao’s mind like a plea.

Surrender and live.

No one could defeat Shu Mu Ye at this level.

No one.

The limit beyond limits. The boundary beyond human.

This was Shu Mu Ye—creating myth at the Eighth Seal.

And Wang Jie—alone—walked straight into that myth.

Blood seeped through his skin. His eyes reddened further until they looked like they were burning from inside.

Still he walked.

The bloody footprints under him—no one could tell if they were his or someone else’s anymore.

Kneel?

So many had died to buy him time.

He had already said it: if he died, he would die in front of all of Blue Star.

Shu Mu Ye watched him reach the altar and begin climbing over corpses.

His brows tightened.

“Why won’t you give up?” he asked. “You should have reached your limit.”

His face had gone pale. Even for him, the flute technique was a strain. He was pushing himself.

Wang Jie didn’t answer.

He climbed.

Pinned beneath bodies, Bai Yuan stared through blood-water as the world flipped and blurred.

Only Wang Jie stayed clear.

Bai Yuan’s voice came out ragged, hoarse, almost not a voice at all. “Win.”

Wang Jie climbed, fingers slipping on slick flesh.

Bai Yuan forced his throat to work again. “Win—!”

Shu Mu Ye’s gaze darkened, blood at the corner of his mouth. “Kneel,” he said, voice flat. “I’ll give you a way to live.”

Wang Jie kept climbing.

Win.

No one under Night and Day could understand it. The flute technique was agony made sound. Even Chu Yao, who could lie in a coffin for ages, gave up resisting at once and simply let the sea carry him.

And yet Wang Jie climbed.

As if he had emptied every drop of blood from his body.

As if all he could see was that single ray of sunlight.

As if the only thing he could hear was one word—

Win.

Shu Mu Ye finally raised his blade.

He slashed.

Bai Yuan screamed, voice tearing. “Careful!”

Wang Jie snapped his head up, then launched himself.

He caught the blade in his bare hand.

His palm split open, skin and flesh torn by the edge.

He didn’t care.

He slammed his body into Shu Mu Ye.

Shu Mu Ye staggered back. The hit wasn’t even heavy, and yet—under the strain of the flute technique—he couldn’t hold.

Wang Jie twisted.

Jia Eight Steps.

His body’s momentum whipped his numb left arm around—an arm that barely moved on its own anymore.

And he slapped Shu Mu Ye across the face.

Smack.

The sound cracked through the world.

Shu Mu Ye flew several meters.

Night and Day stuttered.

The pressure eased—just enough for everyone to realize what they’d seen.

Time seemed to stop.

On the altar, Shu Mu Ye—

Had been slapped.

And only then did people remember what Wang Jie had said before the fight.

He had promised he would slap Shu Mu Ye.

At Jia Yi Sect’s lakeside, Gu Yue stepped forward, stunned. If this scene ever spread through the universe, it would cause an uproar—but without the full battle, who would believe it?

Who would believe Shu Mu Ye was slapped by a native?

Ting He laughed, fists clenched, joy sharp and bright despite the blood. It felt… satisfying.

Wen Si Yuan exhaled slowly. “Night and Day pushed Shu Mu Ye to his limit too. Otherwise, the native wouldn’t have had a chance.”

Reason didn’t matter.

Shu Mu Ye had been slapped.